


Melava Somniar

by zesulin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, shhh ive never played trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zesulin/pseuds/zesulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were no monster teeth, nor guttural howls here. Papa’s arms were around him, his face contorted into an expression of concern, watching him carefully. By the door, he could see Mamae leaning against the frame, looking equally worried, a candle in her one good hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melava Somniar

_Unnatural, guttural howls filled the air as the boy scrabbled up the jagged rock face, cold, unforgiving stone with little purchase for the boy to grab onto. His movements seemed slow, as if underwater, while the creature behind him screeched and snatched blindly with clawed hands, blackened by Maker only knows what. The boy’s breath caught in his chest, rapidly, coming raw in what felt like freezing air. He had to get away. There was no telling what would happen if the creature caught him, but the dread that filled his stomach at the idea said that it would be nothing good._

_He reached frantically for another ledge to pull himself up onto, small, childish arms barely able to hold up his weight, how ever tiny it was. Though the sharp stone felt solid under his hands, it crumbled to dust, and all at once, his stomach flipped-- he was falling, falling, falling right into the yawning maw of the creature, who shrieked in delight as his terrified wails filled the air. He was it’s, and there was no escaping-- into the belly of the beast. He fell past razor-sharp teeth, and all at once, the creature’s hot breath was all around him, encircling him, entrapping him--_

 

“Nehnis! Nehnis! Da’len, wake _up_ \--” The boy’s-- Nehnis’-- eyes flew open. There were no monster teeth, nor guttural howls here. Papa’s arms were around him, his face contorted into an expression of concern, watching him carefully. By the door, he could see Mamae leaning against the frame, looking equally worried, a candle in her one good hand. Instantly, he flew into Papa’s embrace, tiny arms wrapped around his neck, little face buried in the soft fur wrapped around his shoulders. His tiny form began to wrack with sobs and he clung to his papa, who in turn held him tight, hushing him gently. 

Another night-terror. The boy had been getting them more often lately, but none had been so bad to have him screaming in his sleep, tossing so violently that the two of them could hear him in their little private corner of the small home. At the door, Mirre grimaced tiredly, dark brows drawing together. Perhaps she’d been right in the first place-- an ancient thing out of time he might be, but at times, a second opinion would be necessary. They’d be needing to write. But for now, comforting the little one was the main task at hand. 

Solas rubbed his son’s back and he shook with sobs, hushing him to little avail. The poor thing must have been truly, mortally terrified-- it made his stomach twist as he thought of what could possibly scare him so. Darker thoughts drifted into his mind, churning into long-buried turmoil-- Perhaps Nehnis was a Dreamer like himself, or perhaps the demons of the Fade could not resist tormenting the child of the Dread Wolf. It made his mouth grow sour and dry, eyes glazing as he rubbed circles into the small back.

Perhaps nightmares were just nightmares. He hoped. Still. 

Mirre must have seen his jaw clenching, because after a moment, she gently shifted the boy from his arms to hers, minding her prosthetic. Nehnis didn’t seem to mind at all, twining his spindly baby arms around her neck and tucking his face (so much like his mother’s each day, Solas noted-- Her large, green eyes and long, elvhen nose, his mop of wavy black hair) into the crook of her neck. She offered a small, tired smile, leaning her cheek against the top of his head, gently humming.

“Hush, little one,” She murmured into his hair, swaying gently, “The nightmares are gone now, da’len.” She paused as he snuffled, letting out a muffled cry into her chest. “Do you remember the spell that Papa taught you? To ward off bad dreams? Shall we do it together?” Not really a spell-- almost entirely placebo, but it seemed to ward off his son’s fears, and that was what mattered, for now. As long as he believed he had someone watching and protecting him, the demons would have a much harder time taking hold. And it wasn’t as if Solas couldn’t reach in and keep him safe. 

(A small, traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered, “Not forever.”)

Nehnis nodded, though, and after a moment, all three of them went to his bed-- Mirre sitting on the edge with their son still curled in her arms, Solas sitting beside them with an arm sliding around his wife’s waist, protectively leaning in, as if to shield the little one from danger. As if to shield both of them-- though he knew Mirre would hardly need it. Thought the days of the Inquisition were behind them, she was still very much a force of nature-- something truly to be reckoned with, missing arm or no.

There, together, in the dark, they quietly recited the little rhyme. On the bedside table, the candle Mirre had lit bathed them all in gentle orange light-- some safety against the deep blue of night, a light to banish the unknown, and any demon, real or imagined. Despite all that they had survived, all the violence that had come to pass, they were safe now in this moment. Nehnis (Their _son_ \-- he would never get used to that.) safe in Mama and Papa’s arms-- warm and solid and real, demons banished. The boy’s cries quieted, and his breathing grew even as the two of them hushed him.

As Nehnis began to drift, Mirre, as her father had for her once upon a time, sang a lullaby. No great Orlesian opera singer she might be, but her gentle, warm voice was more than enough now. 

 

_Iras ma ghilas, da'len_  
_Ara ma'nedan ashir_  
_Dirthara lothlenan'as_  
_Bal emma mala dir_


End file.
